Sunday, December 2, 2012

Not Done With Me Yet

“Thank you Dear Heart, that was the best tastings of
the year”-Walter

Big smile spreading across my mug as I stand face to
face with a grumpy curmudgeon with twinkly, wine softened eyes and what can
only be described as a smirk from ear to ear. Took one hell of a long time to
get there with Walter and I, years of snapping back and forth, my brow furrowed
and scrunched so hard, for so long that if felt bruised, eye rolling, big huffy
sighs and the occasional storming off in a snit. Him picking at me, likely because
he could tell it bothered me and me being woefully annoyed by the old fart that
asked a million questions and grumbled if the free bread we put out for our
tastings was cut in too big or too small pieces. Pain in my ass, Walter has
been a pain in my ass for fifteen years and while it took me some time to
discover it, he likes it that way…

“If you billed it as a Sam tasting it might get more
traction” - Walter

In all the years I’ve known him not much has changed
outside from the car he drives, used to be a Woody, and not a classic or restored
one, it was busted to shit and I swear it had Flintstone foot holes for breaks.
Now the bus is the preferred method of transit for the super slender, baseball
hat wearing, furry faced, cheese snarfing, pate grubbing, new customer scaring
cantankerous sweetheart that never misses one of my tastings….well other than
the Champagne ones that he can’t quite afford to attend.

“Number seven really liked the liver!” - Walter

I think it
was around 2003, just after I came back from my first trip to Europe, when I
noticed that Walter’s abrasion left me far less itchy than it used to. Not sure
if it was the way I had changed after that trip, my new found confidence and
much bigger voice that made him less irritating, or if my taking the trip, immersing
myself in the foods and wines of France for nearly a month, had upped my street
cred with Walter, but for some reason there were far fewer huffs and eye
rolling about eight years into our somewhat forced relationship. But it wasn’t
until I took over all the buying for our French wines that Walter started not
only being way nicer to me, he started complimenting me, effusively. Very weird
sensation I assure you, kind of like when you became an adult and your
sibling/s tell you how much they miss you, not totally impossible to believe
but you keep waiting for the Wet Willie or Indian Burn…

“That fucking paella was outstanding and your wine
selection was miraculous!” – An excited Walter that pelted my shirt with spent
bits of rice that came flying from his enthusiastic grill.

Almost always the first to arrive for my tastings,
(thank you Long Beach Transit) Walter still pokes at me a little, questioning my
spelling and pronunciation of French labels and regions, pointing out typos and
errors on our tasting sheet with such vigor you would think he were getting
paid for it…pain in my ass, but to watch his frail frame bounce up and down,
hear him snarl into a glass after finding his particular brand of funk in the
aromatics, watch those less initiated in the Art of Walter, back away looking
slightly terrified as the bearded stick figure swings his arms about shouting, “That’s
disgusting!!!” with utter and absolute glee, something I’ve come to not only
adore, I down-right crave it, pick wines to ensure that happens at least once a
tasting.

“If you knew how easy it is to quit you would kick
yourself” - Walter

Upon hearing that I quit smoking….

“If you need to talk you know who to call. I am so
on board with this!” – Walter

Walter has, somehow and for some crazy reason,
become one of my most ardent and supportive fans at the store. He and I dig
classic and rustic wines, wines high in acid and low in alcohol, wines that
wear the accent of their homeland and, as it turns out, seems as if we’ve grown
to kind of adore each other as well. Where there used to be eye rolling and
huffing, there is now head shaking and laughter. Walter brags on me in a way
that makes me terribly and wonderfully embarrassed and I find myself watching
over and worrying about this crusty bastard far more than I could have ever
imagined. I light up when he arrives, cannot wait to share my discoveries with
him and dammit if that old bastard hasn’t gone and made me love him in some
weirdly familial way….fucker.

“It took a couple tries but I haven’t smoked in 10
years” - Walter

I confess to being a bit taken aback when I saw
Walter’s name crossed off the reservation list for my tasting this past Friday.
I wasn’t upset or hurt, in fact I assumed that he must have had some beer
dinner, (big fan of those our Walter) or his finances were a little too tight
to swing the $50 entrance fee. He can’t make them all and I get that but
Burgundy, Red Burgundy, My Red Burgundy tasting? Struck me as odd but I quickly
put it out of my head as the reservations started coming in fast and furious.
Just days before the class my coworker and ex-customer Andy approached me, big,
deep, chest-filling breath and “Well, you won’t be seeing Walter for a bit”….fuck.

So it looks like the 50 years before the 10 have
caught up with my beloved Walter and Tuesday afternoon he underwent an 11 hour
surgery to remove a piece of his cancer infected lung, and he knew about it and
told none of us for months….asswad. I was wrongfully under the assumption that
I was in the loop and junk, especially seeing as I have been privy to, “I’m on
new meds so keep an eye on me” conversations with the 75 year old cheese eater.
I was wrong, and I should have known better. Walter is Walter, a private man
that shares only his passion for food and wine with me and after all the years
it took to get that much, I have to say that I am very grateful to have it. I
drove past the VA hospital on my way home from my Burgundy event, knew Walter
was there, alone and all it would take was a slight left hand turn of my
steering wheel. I let my fingers rest on my turn signal, my heart simultaneously
pulling and terrified, my admittedly arrogant feeling of entitlement nearly
enough but as the light switched from red to green I took my fingers of the rod
on my steering column and went straight, driving past the hospital….no matter
how much I wanted to go in and not only hug him, but tell him about the wines I
had poured, which ones he would have loved but also maybe rescue the ICU nurses
and assure them that the puny, foul-mouthed, bearded one was way more bark than
actual bite….but I didn’t. In the end I had to respect Walter’s wishes to
handle this alone. Hurts and I missed him more on that drive home that I ever
thought possible.

“Have you been to (Insert whatever new restaurant
here) yet?!” – Walter

“So I’ve decided that Walter has to get better, and
soon seeing as I have that Loire Cabernet Franc and Chenin Blanc tasting
scheduled for the first Friday of 2013….and he needs to be there”- Me, talking,
wishing, hoping and fingers crossed talking to my boss Randy.

I’ve got in all kinds of amazing new wines Walter.
More Chenin Blanc and Cabernet Franc than you can believe and dude, they are
fucking brilliant. We need to taste them together kid….we aren’t done yet you
and me Walter. - Me xoxoxox

(Walter's name has been changed because he is a grouchy old bastard that might just get mad at me for using his real one...asshole.)

You know ... sometimes those of us who are the most private are also the most appreciative when someone stops by. You know. Like to tell them about the good wines you tasted. Give it a week and then maybe reconsider that left turn...

Anonymous,I'm thinking he would be pissed as all get out. I won't force my will on him, this post was pushing it. No, I'll just wait for him to come in, I'll pretend he is bugging the shit out of me and secretly be thrilled to see him. It's how we work me and Walter....

Crazy Amy,Thanks for popping by and leaving a comment. I am simply heartbroken for having lost such a dear, albeit handful of a man. You are right though, he's off to his next tasting room...and the flights are free. He will be missed...